


Breaking and Mentoring

by blondsak, Grace_d



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (committing felonies together tends to do that), Accidental Bonding, Awesome Peter Parker, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Light Angst, Partners in Crime, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony just encourages it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28803312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/pseuds/blondsak, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grace_d/pseuds/Grace_d
Summary: “Speaking of the lab, it’s probably empty right now. We could always…”Tony trails off, silently pointing between himself and Peter before subtly nodding toward the main doors in the back of the lecture hall.Peter’s eyebrows disappear into his bangs. “You want to break into Dr. Connors’ lab? Rightnow?”
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 59
Kudos: 236





	Breaking and Mentoring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FerretShark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FerretShark/gifts).



> Happy birthday to FerretShark!!! We hope you have the loveliest day, friend, and wish you a wonderful new year <3

It’s 7:23 on a Tuesday evening and Tony Stark is currently wishing he was anywhere else but here. Here is sitting on a deeply uncomfortable plastic flip up chair in the Regis Jenner lecture theatre at Empire State University, slowly sinking down the seat as he dies of boredom as a PhD student on stage fumbles through their speech. Beside him, Peter’s faring better, being patiently attentive. His feet give him away though, his left heel- the one closest to Tony- jiggling as though he’s two seconds away from jumping onto the stage and completing the presentation himself.

Tony studies Peter out of the corner of his eye. He still looks relatively bright, considering this torture has lasted nearly an hour already, nodding along. He’d shown up late, hair slightly wild and rumpled, complaining that May had checked his person for his Spider-man suit before he’d left the apartment. Tony too had faced a “superhero stuff” ban from Pepper for this event– the lack of familiar tech made him uncomfortable– but he chose to point out Peter’s flannel overshirt was inside out instead. 

Tony is still unsure how he ended up here. But Peter had mentioned the ESU innovation lecture series to Karen, and Karen had passed it to FRIDAY, and FRIDAY had booked the tickets before Tony was even aware, the AI insisting it met the “find stuff to do with Peter” reminder sitting in his calendar. Tony was sure when he made it– that little comment after that eventful press conference where Peter turned him down– he hadn’t meant _this_ kind of stuff. 

So here Tony was, Tuesday evening, at a poorly attended science lecture series for topics he could give better speeches about while wasted. The benefit of Peter’s lateness had been that they hadn’t had to exchange awkward small talk in the lobby, just quietly slipped into the back during the opening keynote, and sat in near silence. 

A smattering of applause breaks Tony’s musings and he makes an effort to adjust himself into a more upright position, giving a half hearted clap for the postgrad that hurries off the stage. Another one promptly takes their place, adjusting a slideshow. 

“What did you think?” Peter leans over and asks Tony quietly. Tony leans slightly away– an instinctive reaction to someone in his personal space– but the kid’s eyes are still on the stage. 

Tony doesn’t want to admit he’d barely listened to the student’s speech, or the two before that, and therefore has nothing intelligent to say. He makes a non-committal “hmm”. 

“Yeah. I agree.” Peter shakes his head, settling back into his own seat. “I wish they had’ve looked further into molecular self assembly before they started building their bots.” 

Tony gives another speculative “hmm” as the next speaker starts. He’s using a molecular self assembly model for nano-tech himself– the latest Mark iteration will be fully portable and discreet– but he’s certainly never mentioned it to Peter. He isn’t even sure where the kid would have picked that idea up. Neither, actually, is he sure where Peter’s gotten the handful of other ideas he’s briefly dropped to Tony, critiquing work across the fields of biomedicine, robotics and quantum computing, in a way Tony admits is not unintelligent.

The speaker ends and the session chair calls a fifteen minute break before the next round. Tony turns his head subtly away from the aisle and towards Peter as people drift up the stairway past them and out of the hall. 

Peter stands up too, and shakes out his limbs like he’s cramping. 

“Want to go out there?” Tony nods towards the door. “Stretch the ol’ legs?” 

“I’m alright,” Peter smiles hesitantly, and stretches his arms behind his back. “Besides, I know we’re _incognito._ ” 

Tony adjusts his glasses self consciously. Just clear lenses today– nothing screams “Tony Stark” more than coloured glass, even in his most casual shirt and blazer combo– but the frames disrupt his face enough that most people need to squint to positively ID him. “Just me though,” he tells Peter, “You could schmooze some faculty staffers, or check out the main atrium, most famous place on campus...” 

Peter shrugs. “I’ve seen it.” 

They lapse into awkward silence, looking about the mostly empty auditorium. 

“I’ve actually been to this lecture series before,” Peter offers hesitantly, “Ben, uh, my uncle, he didn’t have a degree, neither does May. But he never wanted me to feel like anywhere was off limits, you know? He thought it’d be good if I felt familiar with the whole– ” Peter gestures around the building, “college thing.”

Tony feels somewhat underpowered to broach the unknown, obviously sensitive topic of Ben Parker. “Ah,” he says intelligently. 

They lapse into another momentary silence. 

“So...” Peter breaks it again. “How goes Avengering?” 

Tony snorts. “It’s not a verb, kid. But the Avengering is fine. The world is secure, yadda yadda. How’s patrol? Any progress with those robberies?”

Tony knows from Karen and Peter’s patrol reports that he’d been following a spate of unusual community pharmacy robberies up and down the East river. So far neither the police, or Spider-man, had any success with catching them.

Peter frowns and drops into his seat. “They're not slowing down, Mister Stark. Last night was the same as the other three times. Any staff on site simply fell asleep, woke up when the police arrived, but another one had a reaction to whatever caused it. Respiratory arrest. I heard the police say he was practically blue by the time they arrived. He survived, but it’s not good.” 

Tony considers the problem, which he has to admit he hasn’t thought hard about, only skimmed Karen’s case notes and the police file to make sure Peter could handle it. The string of low level pharmacy robberies seemed tame enough, and a little lower stakes than illegal weapons dealing, so he’d left Peter to it. 

But he sees Peter chewing on his lip, staring intently into his hands. 

“What was the guy doing there?” Tony asks, “the injured one?” 

“A cleaner,” Peter says, and then “the lady from the earlier one, the pharmacy assistant, slept six hours and missed an insulin dose and she was really sick too.” 

“They’re taking medications, right? The thief?” Tony asks, and Peter nods, “Worth a lot on the street. How do you think they’re doing it?” Tony asks, interested to know how Peter will approach the problem. 

“I think it’s some kind of aerosolized compound, probably released into the ventilation system,” Peter says. “Karen detected a trace amount of zolpidem in the air at the second robbery–”

“Zolpidem?” Tony interrupts. “That’s used to treat insomnia, isn’t it?”

Peter nods. “Which could explain the sudden onset of extreme exhaustion. It also has a very short half-life, so wouldn’t show up in blood samples at the hospital afterward. But it’s probably a mix of that and other compounds, maybe an opioid or a benzodiazepine.”

Tony cocks his head, looking at Peter thoughtfully. “That’s some good detective work, kid.”

At the compliment Peter blushes. “Thanks, Mister Stark.” His face falls slightly as he adds, “I just wish the _how_ helped me figure out the _who,_ but so far there've been no useful leads.”

“Hey, knowledge is still power,” Tony points out, realising that as they’ve been talking, people have been trickling back into the theatre. He turns back to the front. “You never know when it might come in handy.”

The next round of speeches start, Peter settling back into his chair as Tony braces himself for yet another boring round—it’s not that he considers research from ESU _bad_ , just conceptually underbaked and spectacularly underfunded. The university severely lacked the ability to follow through on big grants. _Should I tell Peter this?_ He rolls that over in his brain, wondering where college advice might fit within the poorly defined boundaries of Peter’s “internship”. A problem that’s at least a year or two away, he decides dismissively, and his mind soon wanders to various SI projects and some suit upgrades he had in mind for Rhodey. 

He’s not sure how long he’s been zoned out for when Peter suddenly pokes him in the arm, Tony glancing over with a disgruntled expression only for the teen to nod pointedly at the stage. Tony forces himself to pay attention, watching as a PhD student named Michael Schimpf blandly discusses the various properties and uses of the drug propofol. Basic pharmacology at best. 

After a minute of listening to the man drone on, Tony looks back at Peter, shrugging as he mouths _what?_

It looks for a minute like Peter is about to roll his eyes, but instead he just leans in, whispering in Tony’s ear. “He’s talking about the potential for aerosolized anesthetics!”

Tony shrugs again, and this time Peter does roll his eyes, adding, “That’s a little coincidental, don’t you think?”

Tony frowns, considering. “Wait—you think that’s the thief?” At Peter’s vigorous nod, Tony smirks. “It would indeed be _very_ coincidental to happen to run into your pharmacy robber in a city of millions, Pete.”

“Sure, but he’s _also_ wearing a pair of Ariat Highlands, which matches a dirt print found at the third crime scene,” Peter says. His lip turns up as he adds, “Believe it or not, not a lot of New Yorkers own six-hundred dollar pairs of boots, Mr. Stark.”

Tony hums, glancing through the lecture pamphlet. Michael Schimpf, final year student in the biotech division, background in drug development. “Okay, that does move him a bit higher up the POI list. But it’s still not nearly enough to go on.”

Peter sighs in defeat, leaning back into his chair. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Tony studies the man on stage more closely. He’s well dressed, with a completely forgettable kind of face and a terrible monotone voice. It _is_ easier to steal drugs than make them, Tony considers, if one felt like starting their own street level drug dealing activity. Schimpf readjusts his tie, and Tony gets a flash of a watch that looks obnoxiously expensive for a grad student. And he definitely has the expertise and access to make the custom pharmaceuticals Peter suspects to be involved.

“You know what _would_ be something to go on _,_ ” Tony picks their conversation back up, “is if we were to find evidence directly tying him to the crimes. According to his little program blurb, Schimpf is a graduate assistant in the lab of one Professor Curtis Connors. How much you wanna bet he makes his compound at that same lab?”

“It would make sense,” Peter agrees after a moment. “He’d likely have everything he needs there, and it’s the perfect cover.”

Tony nods, before saying, “Speaking of the lab, it’s probably empty right now, what with all the students here. We could always…”

He trails off, silently pointing between himself and Peter before subtly nodding toward the main doors in the back of the hall.

Peter’s eyebrows disappear into his bangs. “You want to break into Dr. Connors’ lab? Right _now?”_

“It’s bound to be more interesting than this, at least,” Tony says, then after another quick glance at the pamphlet adds, “Looks like there’s one more lecture left before the panel discussion, which gives us roughly thirty minutes. Well? What do you say to some light B&E, kid?”

Peter looks down at his lap, his hair hiding his expression. But he’s smiling when he glances back up at Tony. “Let’s do it.”

The pair waste no time sneaking out of the lecture hall, making their way through the large atrium, across the suspended walkway that links to the lab building next door. As Tony predicted, the place appears deserted, no voices or steps besides their own echoing throughout the hallways as Peter leads Tony to the lab. Speaking of–

“How do you know where we’re going?” Tony asks.

“Done the tour a few times,” Peter says casually. 

A snarky comment sits on the tip of Tony’s tongue, but he thinks of Ben Parker, hoping for a prestigious, expensive education for his nephew, and he keeps his mouth shut. 

It’s at the end of the hallway, lit by dully flickering fluorescents, that they hit their first obstacle. Tony and Peter stare at the swipe card reader before them. Obviously, the research unit was going to have security, but Tony’s operating on exactly .04 percent of a plan here. He knows about four quick ways to break into an electromagnetic door but only two of them are quiet, and all require either time or equipment which they don’t have, thanks to Pepper confiscating most of his pocket tech before he drove down to the city. 

God, Tony complains inside his head, he hasn’t kicked it old school with the solutions since the Mandarin. 

Peter presses his face up against the glass, cupping his hands around his eyes to squint down the darkened hallway. Tony does a belated sweep of the hallway for security cameras. He doesn’t see any, nor does he notice any inconspicuous lenses or extra power cables that might suggest a more subtle form of surveillance. 

“I think this is the start of the sealed labs areas,” Peter concludes. “There’s a second set of doors further down, and security cameras on the other side of that, set in fanning motions.” He steps back from the glass, and then hurriedly wipes the imprint of his hands off the glass with his elbow. “Judging from the angle, we should be just out of sight down here.” 

“You can see all that?” Tony asks. 

Peter shrugs, then taps his temple. “Spider sight.” 

“And Connors’ lab is in there?” Tony asks, even as Peter nods to confirm. “And what about his office?” Tony asks.

“Why Connors’ office?” Peter asks. 

“Universities are required to maintain centralised, secure copies of student work, as well as lab data,” Tony explains. “Connors is the big fish, lab supervisor, and he’ll have all that information backed up, even if he’s not keeping a tight leash on his students.” 

He checks his watch. Five precious minutes have gone by already, and while he wasn’t too invested to begin with, the thrill of a caper is starting to get to him. “Think, does Connors have a separate office space?” he asks Peter, even as he pulls out his phone to search the man’s ESU research profile for contact details. 

Peter’s quiet for a moment, eyes closed, and then– 

“Down two halls, sixth door on the right.” Peter says quickly, before heading in that direction, ducking low and hugging the wall. 

“Woah there, Agent 86!” Tony grabs the back of Peter’s shirt, and yanks him upright. “Be cool. If we get caught, we want to look like we got bored or lost, not creeping around with balaclavas over our faces.” 

Peter nods, then, in an impressive piece of overacting, shoves his hands into his pockets and saunters down the hall, practically whistling in nonchalance as he does. 

Tony rolls his eyes and follows Peter to the office he pointed out, the sliding name plate stating it was, in fact, the office of Prof. Curt Connors, PhD, and a handwritten note below proclaims “Students are seen by appointment _ONLY_ ” with such annoyance in the ONLY that Tony winces.

After the roadblock of the swipe card reader, the double locks on Connor’s door hardly rates a mention. Tony declines Peter’s offer to “pull the door off its hinges, quietly” and instead decides to teach him to pick the locks, using a safety clip he finds on the floor and the thin, flat arm of his glasses that he unceremoniously dismantles. 

“Oh this is so cool,” Peter whispers, practically vibrating with excitement. “I’ve never actually seen someone do this.” 

Peter watches intently as Tony gives a brief explanation as he carefully inserts the two levers into the higher deadbolt, head tilted in concentration as though he can hear the tumblers turning. In fact, Tony realises, he probably can. God, that particular skill set would have made Tony’s own youthful escapades much easier. 

With a small flourish, he unclicks the deadbolt. 

Peter’s wide eyes are worth the showmanship. Tony checks his watch, with almost 10 minutes burnt up already, then decides, _what the hell,_ this is meant to be a mentorship anyway. Also he’s getting way too old to be kneeling on the ground. 

“Your turn.” He holds the makeshift lockpick set out to Peter. 

A few comments on positioning, a bit of guiding advice, and Peter has the second lock open himself. 

“Holy shit, Mister Stark!” Peter looks up at him with wide eyes, “I’m totally breaking and entering.” 

Tony feels a sudden and surprising sense of pride. He shoos Peter into the office before the kid can see him smiling, then closes the door behind them, closing the room into darkness. He can already hear Peter moving about, no doubt aided by the “spider sight”, but Tony opts to instead pull out his phone, adjusting the flashlight setting to low rather than hitting his knees on every piece between himself and the door. The office is cramped, books and printed journal articles piled in stacks along the wall and on top of the rows of filing cabinets. 

“You crack the filing cabinets, I’ll take the computer,” Tony instructs, making his way to the desk, cautious of the mess. He boots up the old computer, flinching as the fans whir to life and he’s presented the ESU login page. He thinks of FRIDAY, sitting dormant on his phone, then decides to kick it old school and do the hack himself. 

“What am I looking for?” Peter whispers, already crouched in front of the first row of filing cabinets. 

“You have an idea of the drug, but we want to know how they’re aerosolising it.” Tony keeps his voice low too. “Look for schematics or patent applications for their delivery system. I’ll check lab access times and compounding records.” 

They work swiftly and silently, Peter rifling through files, Tony trying to stretch his brain to remember the basics of hacking a computer surely from the last millennium. Connors may be a dinosaur but he will not defeat Tony on his day. 

"What are you doing?" Peter asks, when Tony swears under his breath for the third time. 

"Trying to get into this encrypted drive. Why?"

"No reason." Peter very quietly closes the drawer, then starts searching through the next. "Taking a while, isn’t it,” he says lightly as Tony taps away.

"Yeah, well we can't all be Ned Leeds," Tony mutters, smacking a little too forcefully at the keyboard in frustration and starting another approach.

Another few moments, and Tony knows he’s almost in, and then Peter interrupts him again. 

“This is fun,” he says. 

He’s right. There’s a smile on Tony’s face, and his heart is racing in a way that it hasn’t in a while. The setting, the company, makes things feel more like a prank from his time at MIT than the constant life or death drama Tony’s dealt with for years now, and despite the kid’s snark, or perhaps because of it, Tony’s enjoying this ridiculous jaunt. 

The middle of a felony is a strange moment for Tony to realise he actually likes spending time with Peter Parker. 

“Mister Stark, I found something. It’s a formula of some kind.”

“Anesthetics?” Tony asks distractedly, musing on the idea that he’s apparently made a fifteen year old friend. 

“No,” Peter sounds unsure, “It’s genetic-” he cuts himself off. “Someone’s coming!”

Tony swears, and flicks the flashlight on his phone off. Peter runs to the door. 

“What are you doing?” Tony hisses. “We have to hide!” 

“I’m saving us both!” Peter replies before flinging the door open and peeking out. 

“Kid–” Tony stands up to stop him.

“Don’t come out,” Peter orders, before closing the door behind him with a quiet click. 

Tony swears again, sitting back down in Connors’ chair as he debates what to do. Even if Peter does manage to net him a few extra minutes, that might not be enough time for Tony to find anything of use. But then again, while it might not be enough time for _him,_ it’s definitely enough time for a certain AI he knows.

Pulling out his phone, Tony goes around the desk, messing around with a few cables until he has his phone plugged in. It’s just as he’s typing in keywords for FRIDAY to scan for that he hears the clear sound of footsteps.

“Hey! What are you doing back here?” a male voice calls out from through the door and down the hallway, sounding rather annoyed.

Tony’s sudden anxiety is disproportionate to the threat posed by ESU’s lax campus security guards, he’s sure. And if they get caught, well, Tony’s more than happy to donate some much needed funding dollars to make the whole thing go away. Much like his own father had to MIT, Tony realises suddenly, and then for a brief moment considers the vast expanse between Ben Parker and Howard Stark’s approach to higher education. 

“Oh my god, are you—you’re Dr. Connors!” Tony hears Peter exclaim, his tone immediately bringing to mind the hundreds of times Tony had been approached by fanboys while out in public.

“Yes, I am,” Connors replies with interest, clearly not as used to being recognized as Tony has long been. “May I inquire who you are?”

Tony finishes putting in the keywords, rounding the desk again and smirking when he sees FRIDAY combing through files at the speed of lightning. 

“I’m Peter Parker, sir,” Peter replies to Connors. “I go to Midtown School of Science and Technology, and I’m a big fan of your work adapting SNRIs for neuropathic pain.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, more than a little impressed with his protege as he watches files rapidly open and close across the screen, too fast for human eyes to discern. 

“Are you now?” Connors replies with an air of smugness. “And how old are you, Peter?”

“Fifteen, sir.”

“Parker, you said? You wouldn’t happen to be a relation of the late Dr. Richard Parker, would you?”

Tony’s head whips over to the door with alarmed curiosity. He spots the shadow of Peter’s feet underneath the large crack at the bottom of the door shuffle nervously, before the kid finally responds.

“Um, yes, sir. He was my father.”

“The son of Richard Parker. Well, I’ll be damned,” Connors replies, quietly enough that Tony almost misses the words—though the tone alone is enough to make his skin crawl. It reminds him far too much of when he was a boy and forced to attend a seemingly endless parade of boring galas. The children of the very richest attendees like himself were often present only as a conversation piece, something to be gawked at and remarked over with either glowing approval or faint disdain—usually depending on what they thought of his father, although as a young boy Tony hadn’t understood that particular discernment, taking it all to heart instead.

As such, Tony doesn’t have to see Connors’ face to imagine the exact expression he’s wearing, knowing all too well that switch from mild curiosity to intense scrutiny. The sudden protective instinct that flares up in him is strong enough that he starts to stand up, uncaring that he has no excuse for his presence in the man’s office but more than prepared to put an end to wherever Connors is going with this when–

“I was reading earlier about your summer internship program,” the kid deflects smoothly, his feet firmly planted on the floor again. “I think I’d like to apply once I’m old enough.”

 _Oh hell no,_ Tony thinks to himself. But he sits back down in the chair, glancing back at the computer and seeing that FRIDAY has paused on a particular file. He continues to keep an ear to the conversation even as he skims through the document.

“I’d love to have you, Mr. Parker,” Connors replies, his voice still carrying a tinge of its earlier fascination. “Here—take my card. No need for the son of one of my most esteemed former colleagues to jump through administrative hoops. Just let me know which term you’re interested in when the time comes and I’ll get you approved.”

Tony frowns, mentally filing away the _former colleague_ mention to be looked into at a later date.

“Wow, thanks Dr. Connors!” Peter replies, sounding so enthusiastic that for a moment Tony almost believes he actually wants to work with the professor. At least Tony hopes it’s an act, because _no_ _way_ is he letting this guy of all people steal his mentee.

FRIDAY flashes a notification, confirming she’s found evidence of suspicious activity across multiple files. He grabs his phone, typing a short command to the AI to download the material just as Connors says, “You never answered my initial question. What are you doing back here?”

“Oh, uh, that's right,” Peter replies, “I was just… looking for the bathroom?”

There’s silence then, Tony freezing in his movements as he waits for a response from Connors.

“Yes, well, you’re on the wrong floor for public bathrooms,” the man finally replies. “But the lab lockers are back that way if–”

“That’d be perfect, sir,” Peter interrupts, then, “Um, do you think you could show me where they are, exactly? As you can tell, I get turned around kinda easily sometimes.”

“Certainly,” Connors says after a beat, back to sounding mildly annoyed again, though less so than he had when he’d first spotted Peter.

Tony stays unmoving until the sound of their footsteps fade down the hall, only to quickly unplug his phone—FRIDAY having finished the download—and close out of everything on Connors’ computer. He wipes down the keyboard and cables with a silk handkerchief before doing the same with the cabinets Peter had rifled through, then the door handles as he exits.

With a quick glance up and down the hallway Tony strides out, walking down the opposite way that he’d heard Peter and Connors head in—taking the stairs down one floor only to double back, climbing the stairs back up but now on the same side of the building as the labs had been.

It doesn’t take him long to find a door marked LABORATORY LOCKER AREA with the traditional male bathroom symbol underneath, pushing the door open only to nearly run right into Peter.

“Is he gone?” Peter asks in a loud whisper.

“Is he-” Tony repeats in confusion, then rolls his eyes. “No, Peter, he’s not gone, I just Iron-manned his ass and came to save you.” 

“What?” Peter blinks. 

“Nothing, never mind.” Tony pulls out his phone, and scrolls back through the files Friday downloaded. Peter crowds in closer, shoulder to shoulder with Tony as he peers at the screen. Tony could flick the hologram up, or project the files, but he finds he doesn’t mind. “I downloaded some logs that show Schimpf was compounding zolpidem with diazepam, good call on suggesting benzo’s by the way, and also that he’s been a registered user on the portable dispensing unit on days matching every robbery.” 

Peter chews on his lip for a moment. “It’s not enough,” he says eventually. 

Tony feels the defeat in the statement, and the familiar post-mission adrenaline crash. “Probably not,” he admits, stepping away from Peter, “but it’s a damn good lead.” 

“The cops are hardly taking it seriously as it is,” Peter says dejectedly.

The kid’s posture starts to fold in on itself, shoulders sloping, hands twisting together, and the disappointment in it feels overwhelming. Moments ago Tony had thought of this as a bit of fun, a distraction from a boring night.

But for Peter, this crime is important. 

“Hey. Kid. Chin up.” 

Peter doesn’t look up, and so Tony reaches out a hand and clamps it firmly on his shoulder. Wryly, he wonders how he became the mentor, when he was so damn bad at motivational speaking. He reaches for words but none of them seem like his own. Tony clears his throat. 

That brings Peter’s head up, and Tony finds the look on Peter’s face too uncomfortable. He looks slightly past Peter’s left ear, at the row of lockers behind him, trying to find the words. “Sometimes, we face a setback,” Tony stalls, “and what we’ve gotta realise is that…” he trails off, squinting at the black and white name labels on the locker doors.

“Is what?” Peter prompts. 

“Is this the grad assistants’ locker room?” Tony asks instead of finishing his entirely unplanned speech. He steps around Peter and walks along the wall of lockers, stopping at the one labelled ‘Schimpf’. 

Tony raises an eyebrow at Peter, who looks at the locker for a long moment, then releases a long sigh, much to Tony’s amusement.

“May as well, Mister Stark, we’ve committed so many felonies tonight already,” Peter says in such a world-weary way Tony temporarily forgets which one of them is approaching forty-five. 

Tony regards the locker and its internal lock mechanism for a long moment, then asks for complete silence, pressing his ear against the metal of the locker.

“Oh hang on, I’ve got this one,” Peter says and moves Tony back. He gives the locker a single, hard pound with the side of his fist over the locking mechanism. The locker pops ajar. “They have the same lockers at the local pool,” Peter shrugs, then swings the door fully open. 

He freezes, and when Tony steps up to right by his side, he sees why. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groans. 

Sitting in the locker is a liquid air mixer, Tony recognises it from schematics FRIDAY pulled, and from the hook in the locker hangs a black jacket, black gloves and half of a balaclava stuffed in a front pocket. Peter reaches out with careful hands, his sleeves pulled down over his fingers, and unzips the backpack hanging next to the jacket. The backpack clinks as he does, and a quick peek confirms that yes, those are neatly labelled chemicals, alongside way too many packets of oxycodone for personal use. 

It’s all there. 

“Kid.” Tony snaps a picture of inside the locker, then gently swings it shut again. “There’s no way you are taking that internship with Connors. He clearly hires idiots.” 

Thankfully, Peter seems to agree. 

* * *

Actually calling in their evidence takes some negotiation back and forth. Tony’s all for using his connections– and his name– to place it straight into the highest hands of the local police department that he is able to, while crediting Spidey. On the other hand, Peter’s never made a citizen report before, and it would be good to teach him the ropes of it all. 

They go with the latter, an anonymous tip called directly to the detective in charge of the cases, with just enough details to encourage swift follow up from the police. Tony lets Peter do the call himself, using the voice scrambler on FRIDAY and making it untraceable. 

He tries not to wince as Peter gets a little too excited and runs his words together, and ignores when he refers to Schimpf as a ‘Bad dude’. Overall, it goes well, Peter is diligent and precise in his descriptions of the evidence, as well as polite. 

Tony even returns his silent request for a fist bump when the detective says they’ll look into it immediately.

Peter and Tony slip back into the auditorium in time for Doctor Connors’ panel discussion, even though they missed his more detailed presentation which ended moments earlier. 

Michael Schimpf is one of the panel members, and he fields his questions with confidence. In return, Tony and Peter take turns scoffing under their breaths at his over-inflated answers, anticipation making them both itchy for action. While the panel presentation runs, Tony also shoots a quick email off to the ESU research conduct committee, because really, this kind of thing happening right under Connors’ nose is a concern.

The panel is wrapping up, and they’re asking for closing questions, when Peter rockets to his feet—a volunteer coming over with a microphone and handing it to him. 

“I have a question for Dr. Connors.”

Tony glances over to see the man in question smile and nod encouragingly. “Yes, what is it, Mr. Parker?”

“I was wondering about your work with gene therapy,” Peter says, Tony not missing the way Connors’ face falls into a frown. “Specifically, a paper you wrote in 2002 concerning the combination of germline genetic therapy techniques from non-human genetic sources with–” 

“That sounds like it would be quite the question, son,” Connors interjects, cutting Peter off. 

Tony catches something dark flash in the professor’s eyes for a split second before it’s gone, the frown replaced once more with a kind smile. 

“But one I’m afraid I have no answer for, as I have not worked in the field of genetic manipulation in years—over a decade, in fact.” Before Peter can respond Connors glances at his watch then says, “And it looks like we’re out of time for questions, folks. Thank you all for attending, and we hope to see you next year.”

Tony stands up from his seat just as Peter hands the microphone back to the volunteer, looking perturbed as the two of them follow the crowd out of the lecture hall and toward the main lobby. People mill about in small groups, congratulating the presentees and chatting. 

“What was that all about?” Tony asks, keeping his head ducked down. His glasses are still in pieces in his jacket pocket, a victim of the night’s crime. He’s aware that without them, his disguise is sorely lacking. 

“Just something I saw in his office that seemed kinda suspicious,” Peter says.

“Maybe Schimpf isn’t the only one trying to fly under the radar,” Tony mutters, then hearing a commotion to their right, turns to look only to add, “Speak of the devil.”

Peter and Tony watch as Schimpf races through the crowd, two police officers chasing after him. But just as Schimpf gets to the edge of the walk that leads out into the parking lot, two NYPD cars screech to a halt in front of him, blocking his way. 

“That was fast,” Tony comments. 

He turns to look at Peter, who grins back at him. The pair continue to watch as Schimpf—loudly proclaiming his innocence in between screaming curses and threats at the officers—is handcuffed and loaded into the back of one of the cruisers. An appropriately dramatic ending to the evening. 

“We should get out of here,” Tony says quietly to Peter, the two of them carefully picking their way through the crowd—Tony suddenly spotting Dr. Connors directly ahead. A short, bald man Tony vaguely recognizes as the Dean of the Faculty of Science appears to be ranting angrily at him, Tony just barely catching the phrases “massive inquiry” and “funding in jeopardy” as they near. Although the professor remains stone-faced throughout, Tony can see the rage behind the expression. It’s the same barely-contained fury he’d only caught a glimpse of in the lecture hall. 

He can’t help but wonder if he and Peter inadvertently set off yet another supervillain arc, and Tony finds himself grabbing the kid’s arm protectively, gently leading him away before Connors can catch sight of him.

It’s not until they’re completely out of the crowd and nearing his Audi that Tony lets go. Peter gives him a questioning gaze but thankfully doesn’t comment. Instead he says, “Y’know, that was way more educational than I thought it would be. Thanks, Mister Stark.”

“You’re welcome, Pete,” Tony says sincerely. “But maybe don’t mention everything you learned to your aunt. Stick to the boring sciencey stuff, eh?”

Peter smirks. “You mean don’t tell her you taught me how to pick a lock?” 

“You said it, not me."

It’s not until the two of them are in the car, seatbelts on, that Tony continues before he can second-guess himself, “We make a pretty good team, kid. We should do this again sometime.” It's only as he twists his head to reverse out of the parking space that he sees the incredulous look on Peter’s face. “No, I'm not talking about the felonies. Well, mostly.”

Peter laughs, shaking his head. His hair falls over his forehead again. Kid needs a damn haircut, Tony thinks affectionately. 

Tony pulls out onto the street, the heavy rock music from the speakers auto adjusting as their speed changes. He merges seamlessly into the traffic, joining the stop-start pattern of the lights before the Queens-Midtown Tunnel. 

“Can I go to a university I committed a crime in?” Peter asks suddenly. “Is that wrong?” 

Tony laughs out loud. “Pete. I have four degrees from a university I committed multiple offenses within. The stories I could tell you about Rhodey and I... You’re just ahead of the curve.” 

Peter doesn’t look wholly convinced, so Tony throws out a distraction. “Speaking of ahead of the curve, where’d you get your ideas on nanotechnology from?” 

Peter shrugs. “I read.” 

Tony scoffs internally. “Well, I don’t know what you’re reading, but I guarantee you it’s not as interesting as what I’m working on in my lab right now.” 

Peter reacts predictably. “You’re working with nanotech?” he says, scrambling sideways in his seat to face Tony, “What for? For a suit right? How far have you gotten? What elements are you using-” 

As Peter babbles an endless stream of questions, Tony tries to suppress his smile while he pretends to focus on the road. He better leave FRIDAY a reminder to talk to Pepper. The kid’s going to need a building pass and a schedule that fits with his school and Tony’s meetings. Probably paperwork. Something official to put on his extracurriculars.

After all, college applications are only two years away.

**Author's Note:**

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